


The Winds of Change

by Dragonpie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Big Dick Qui-Gon Jinn, Cultural Differences, Dirty Talk, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Grinding, Kissing, Light Femdom, Light Sexual Content, More tags to be added, Nipple Play, POV Second Person, Present Tense, Relationship Development, Vaginal Sex, and the first mention of our personal hero, casual nudity, epic adventure, hidden backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonpie/pseuds/Dragonpie
Summary: You're a princess on a planet with a long standing war. Assigned a Jedi guard for your upcoming peace talks, what trouble could befall you along the way, and what new exciting developments might arise?Basically a reader fic that places you in the role of a firey OC who just wants the best for her people (and will eventually f*ck Qui-Gon Jinn)
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Trashmouth_2_0](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trashmouth_2_0/gifts).



> So as with all of my reader fics, i have written this for a very wonderful friend of mine who in fact deserves the entire world. but i can't give her the world. i can only give her these words.
> 
> TYPOS - don't @ me i have one working eye i do not want to know.

There’s a storm coming.

You can see it grow over the edges of your city; billowing purple clouds rolling in along the horizon. You have a perfect view here, overlooking the forests that house your people. They’ve been waiting for this. They’re all waiting for the rain.

A knock at your door calls you out of your reverie, brief as it was. Your gaze breaks from the sky, drifting down to the floor.

Today is the day.

“Enter.”

You keep your back to the door, listening for the hesitant footsteps of your personal guard.

“Are they here yet?” you ask.

“They’re awaiting your presence as we speak.”

“And?”

There’s hesitation in his initial silence. Words you don’t want to hear, trapped inside his throat.

“They seem earnest.”

The statement draws a sigh from deep within your chest. The sun is only half drawn and already you feel the day has tested you.

“Why now?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer, waiting patiently while you collect our thoughts. When you turn away from the window, Franc remains at attention in the centre of the room. Ever vigilant.

“Our people have suffered this war a hundred years. No one cared! Now we are at the edge of a treaty, and the send two off-worlders to babysit me?”

“Forgive me,” Fran says, tone careful. It isn’t his place to know these things.

You huff, and store the question away in the back of your mind. To be appointed a Jedi guard is considered a high honor in many parts of the galaxy. You square your shoulders and straighten our back, ready to play the host

“Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

Franc leads you out of your office – when he holds the door open it’s just for show. First impressions are important; you aim to mislead any potential threats. Have them think you are helpless, much as you loathe the idea.

“Right this way.”

He gestures broadly toward the open atrium. Your guests are seated in the sparse sunlight; a moderate balcony settled in among the leaves. Our home is built into the tallest tree, centred in the capital of Marro. You get the best views here, of all you aim to protect and all you stand to lose.

“Good day gentlemen.”

You can’t bring yourself to offer a warm smile. Your expression barely shifts at all, beyond acknowledging the servants who flee the area to avoid your discontent.

“Your highness,” the older of the two rises out of his seat, bowing his head by way of greeting. “Qui-Gon, and this is my padawan; Obi-wan. We are pleased to make your acquaintance.”

You notice he doesn’t extend his hand while introducing himself, perhaps uncertain if the gesture is welcome among your people. The younger man rises to his feet also, when his name is mentioned – as if only realising then that he’s in the presence of a princess. You don’t care for the formality of it – it’s just for show – and the boy doesn’t interest you. He wears an expression of disbelief, poorly masked with his boyish features. Your people, your home, they are beyond his understanding. But the older of the two wears an open expression. Genuine interest for what you might say, and for who you might be.

You’re surprised, but not unpleasantly so.

“Well, Qui-Gon,” you say, sparing a disdainful glance towards his mentee, before turning back, “it’s a pity we’re not meeting under different circumstances.”

He takes the comment in stride, a good natured smile spreading across his handsome face.

“Business as usual, I’m afraid,” he says, “Although it will be a privilege to be given the royal tour. What we’ve seen so far of the city has been quite beautiful.”

The words ignite a shallow anger inside of you, and you catch yourself before allowing a scowl to settle on your face. The means well, but what would an outside know of beauty?

“We’ve learned to adapt,” you say, unable to keep the bite off your tongue. “We’ve learned to survive.”

You don’t give him a chance at a second impression – or a chance to figure out he’d done anything wrong. Qui-Gon and his young apprentice are merely a temporary nuisance in your life and you decide not to spare either of them another second of your energy.

“Are the guards prepared to march?” you ask, turning now to face Franc.

The expression he wears is one of guilt and you wonder what more could go wrong.

“I’m afraid it will be just you and I, your highness,” he says. He has his hand pressed flat against his heart; a gesture of sincerity among your men. “Prince Thomnik has sent an escort of his own. He will meet us at the tunnels entrance.”

_“Perfect.”_

You take a moment. A deep breath. You look out to where the centred sun brushes the treetops that surround you. The peace and prosperity of your people hinges on your ability to compose yourself – and perhaps whoever made that decision should take the blame for your failures when they inevitably come.

“Very well,” the words finally come from between grit teeth. You hold your head up, jaw set and shoulders squared. “We must follow the winds of change toward a brighter future. Whatever it takes.”

You leave the atrium, body stiff with frustration. One concession after the other – you’re giving up enough control by agreeing to hold peace talks in the city of your enemy. How much more will they take from you? How much more can you allow?

Your Jedi guard follow swiftly after you, lead close by Franc. Their footsteps shadow yours as you march your way through the halls.

You’ve been read to leave since the invitation was extended – ready to set aside old differences and usher in an era of light for the entire planet. You don’t intent to wait any longer, not even if your new guard fail to keep up.

“Your highness,” an unfamiliar voice reaches out to you. The young apprentice, Obi-Wan, has caught up to you. “Excuse me, but did I hear correctly – do you intend us to _march_ across the planet? We have a ship waiting not far from here.”

You spare him a glance from the corner of your eye. Beneath your feet you feel the start of light tremors; the planet beginning to rumble.

“We’ll go on foot,” you say. The tone you use is final.

He wants to argue – he opens his mouth to make a counter point; to try and convince you of something you know isn’t true. Any attempt at words is thrown out the very second tremors escalate into a full-blown earthquake. Obi-wan falls out of step – almost stumbling to the ground in surprise.

Your own stride doesn’t break; not faltering for even a single step. The quake subsides quickly – a rather small mark on the scale – and you throw a glance over your shoulder.

“Do try to keep up,” you say, “We’re on a tight schedule.”

As you continue to walk you hear Franc explain.

“Flying isn’t safe for extended periods here. With the magnetic pull from constant seismic activity – an attempt to cross the continent could kill you.”

Beyond that, what you hear causes you to stop in place. Qui-Gon stops to help his padawan regain his balance, but also to admonish him.

“She knows her planet well,” he says, “it is our duty to protect, and sometimes that means to heed the advice of our charge.”

The reply that comes is a sullen _“I understand master.”_

Your feel your expression softening, glad your back is turned.

“It won’t be a long journey, I assure you,” you say, falling back into step. “Thomnik’s keep is a day’s march from here. If you tire, you will be left behind.”

It is Quin-Gon who answers, and you can still hear the warmth in his tone when he speaks.

“Understood, your highness.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :full_moon:
> 
> this is again for a very dear friend of mine. i wrote this for her, but anyone is free to read it.
> 
> TYPOS: once again, i am blind as fuck. deal with it.

Today is the day that you’ve waited for. You can feel it in the gentle breeze that graces your fair city, the rustle of low hanging leaves above your heads as you leave the safe confines of your keep. You even hear the change in how your people greet you; a new hope floating in their voices. An unspoken plea.

The forests continue past the boundaries of your capital; a short stretch of trees between your home and the end of your territory. Few citizens choose to live out this far, and the keep their homes close to the sky. Many times, a siege upon your people has been caught on time by those brave souls who live on the outskirts. They call out to you as you approach; you men and even children hanging over the sides of concealed lookout points. All hoping to catch a glimpse of their fearless leader.

“Forgive me,” the blissful silence of your march is ended by young Obi-Wan. You’ve seen him take in everything with interest; every part of your world seeming to fall under scrutiny. “I expected your kingdom to be larger, considering the number of citizens it holds.”

You think to ignore the question. The information he already has is more than you would willingly provide.

“The majority of our citizenship are housed further south,” Franc explains. His voice lacks any of the animosity that you feel.

“But that leaves the palace, and the princess, closer to her enemies.”

You can tell it’s a concept difficult for him to understand. Perhaps on other planets the tactical advantage goes to those who hide and scheme.

“If I can’t withstand the brutality of my enemy, how could I expect my people to?” you ask, “If the palace falls, then my citizens can make a choice for their lives. One they wouldn’t have if I let them die at my feet.”

Again he opens his mouth to question you – and you wish to feel the planet once more shaking beneath your feet. Instead any thoughts he might intend to voice are cut off by his mentor.

“Patience my young padawan. If they intend us to know of their culture and history, then we will know in time.”

The way he speaks has you gritting your teeth. Patience is a luxury too far out of your reach. You don’t want to encourage the curiosity of your visitors. You don’t want your home to become a spectacle.

“Perhaps once this is over with, we can arrange a proper tour,” Franc suggests, “Provided you have the time once your mission is complete.”

Qui-Gon’s voice is smooth when he says, “I’m sure we can find an excuse to stick around.”

“But master, the order –”

“They will understand we are simply doing out job to maintain a partnership with our new allies.”

You don’t try to dispute him – to point out that his presence on this planet is very much against your will. When you look back it’s to see a baffled expression on Obi-Wan’s face, perhaps alarmed b y his mentors behaviour – his ability to talk circles around a problem. Qui-Gon wears the same easy smile as before, and when you meet his eyes there’s an unexpected warmth.

“Your presence here may be tolerated longer, if our peace talks go well,” you say. And, as the ground once again begins to rumble beneath your feet, you find it’s a concession you don’t much mind.

“Brace yourself,” Franc says in warning, as the steady rumbles erupt into a full quake. The trees surrounding you tremble, and above you can hear the shift of sturdy homes built to withstand the tremors.

“How often can we expect this to happen?” Obi-Wan asks as the ground returns to normal.

“They’re more frequent the closer we get to the centre,” you reply, tone ice cold, “you’ll get used to it.”

You continue to walk, seeing the break of sunlight ahead through the thick forest trees.

“Master, I feel displaced from the force here,” Obi-Wan says, “It’s difficult to sense when the planet will change.”

You listen out for the response, curious despite yourself.

“Trust in what your body tells you, Obi-Wan,” Quo-Gon says, and his voice carries weightless along the breeze, “Every mission will be different. You must learn to adapt.”

The advise is received with a small amount of fuss from the other Jedi. He is young. Still learning. In some ways you don’t blame him for his ignorance. But in other ways, he seems too smart for excuses.

In the time it takes to clear the edge of the forest, a new set of quakes have shaken the planet. You notice each time Obi-Wan manages to predict with better accuracy, and is praised by his mentor when the change no longer takes him off guard. He manages to hold himself steady even on the rocky cliffends; a small gorge leading down to the tunnels entrance, and as your group approaches, this time it’s Qui-Gon who questions your next steps.

“I trust you will not lead us astray,” he says, no care in how he speaks to you. That anyone would trust a stranger is a concept you don’t want to understand. “How is it that the tunnel can maintain it’s integrity even through the planetquakes?”

“It’s reinforced,” Franc explains, expression wry. He lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his head nervously, “Well – parts of it are.”

“It’s simple,” you spit out, “The reinforced pods are marked. You feel the ground start to shake, you run to the nearest safe pod whether it means going forward or going back.”

“Fascinating,” Qui-Gon’s eyes are alight with interest, though he keeps his expression neutral. “Kit’s amazing how your people have learned to adapt in this climate – I know many people who would not have survived this long.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” you say. You’re nearing the tunnels entrance now; a layer of thicket and stone grown bush stands in your way. In the distant shadow of the cave-like opening, you can see Thomnik’s guard waiting. “Outsiders know nothing of strength.”

 _“Princess!”_ France speaks up, as though to admonish you for voicing your truth. You don’t give him the chance; picking up your pace to trample the remaining obstacles and step firmly onto the flat ground.

“Good day,” you call, by way of greeting. The guard levels you with a wary stare. You see his hand twitch just slightly toward the handle of his blaster, and he looks up to your approaching guard. “I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

he draws his blaster and you’re hurt but not surprised when a second guard grabs you from behind; a blade against your throat. You hear the buzz of a drawn weapon. Your enemies blaster shakes in his grasp but doesn’t move. From the side-lines you hear Qui-Gon’s calming voice.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

And against your thigh beneath the leather of your long coat, you feel the knife concealed for moments just like this.

“Come now gentlemen, surely there are smarter ways to handle this,” you say. It’s a true miracle you’re able to keep your voice under control when your blood is practically boiling beneath your skin.

Of all the days. Of all the times for this to happen. It simply isn’t fair.

They speak to each other in their native tongue. The one holding you, jerks you sharply and whispers harsh against your ear;

“You will come with us, to pay publicly for your crimes – for the crimes of your father.”

The other spits ferociously into the dirt, and declares; “Marro will know peace, over the ashes of their fallen princess.”

You know Franc will intervene before a single drop of blood can be drawn. Your Jedi guard are there to protect you, and will likely rush to your aid at the first opportunity. But you’ve never been very good at being a princess in distress, and so when your captors knife lifts just slightly from your throat, you take the opportunity to push back. First it’s the thick heel of your boot slammed heavy against his foot. You drive your head back against his face – relish the sick _crack_ of his nose when it collides with your skull. He lets you go and you immediately drop lower to avoids the first round of blaster fire.

It only takes a second to unsheathe your knife, and when you throw it, it goes clean through the guards throat. He collapses to the ground, a pool of red spreading around him as he gasps his last few breaths.

You hear, _“Don’t interfere,”_ spoken softly, but all other noise is lost when you turn to see the second guard clutching his knife in one shaking hand.

“You’ll pay for what you’ve done,” he growls.

Perhaps he doesn’t know. You pay for your decisions every day you continue to breathe. You wonder what he’s lost – what has this war taken from him? You see the suffering of your own people mirrored in his eyes.

Will taking your life make his any better?

You almost want to apologize.

When he lunges for you, body trembling with pent up rage, it’s easy to doge. You grab the wrist he uses, and pulling forward, driving our fist against his face. The force of the blow sends him to the ground and you take his knife in your own hands; the first hot tears of frustration breaking free from your eyes. It’s too much – his life might never know peace, even if you spare him today. This is the consequence that war has left behind.

Even dazed and semi-conscious against the ground, he looks up at you and sneers, words dripping like poison from his tongue. He meets you eyes and spits, _“Coward,”_ before his own are drawing closed. If no for the faint rise of his chest beneath his cloak you might think him dead.

“Princess!”

Franc finally calls out to you, and the entire world seems to shift into perspective. You release the handle of your enemies’ knife, letting it fall to the ground. A man lies dead just behind you – another lies unconscious thinking only the worst things of the woman who chose to spare his life. And to make matters worse your chest is tight, arms trembling right down to your fingers where they clench tight into fists. Your breathing is ragged, unable to contain the emotion that’s flooding you.

“Princess, are you alright?’

Franc is closer now, his voice soft against your ear. He speaks more to your comfort than your safety; almost raising a hand to your face to wipe the few tears that have fallen, before he drops it, remembering his place as your guard in front of company.

You suck in a deep breath, and hold it tight in your chest until you feel you might burst. When you’re ready, you raise your head to the sky and speak loud enough for your Jedi guard to hear.

“I’m sorry,” you say you force yourself to turn and face them – Obi-Wan still has his lightsabre drawn, an expression of concern etched upon his face while Qui-Gon’s hand on his shoulder restricts him from coming to our aid. “It was foolish of me to accept their peace treaty so easily. In my eagerness to end this wretched war, I put your lives at risk. That was wrong of me – I apologise.”

Obi-Wan opens his mouth again as though to argue, but is fixed with a stern look from his mentor.

“What do you intend to do?” Qui-Gon asks instead, and you can tell he’s speaking from concern more than occupational curiosity. “We will accompany you, to the end of our mission if you wish it.”

You nod firmly.

“We will continue to march. This war will end with Thomnik’s heart upon my blade.”

You march resolutely toward the mouth of the tunnel – stepping over the fallen guard as you go. There is no hesitation in the footsteps that follow you, but it seems as though Obi-Wan ca no longer hold his tongue.

“Your highness, please,” he says, breaking forward to march in line with you, “I urge you to think carefully about your next move. Violence will only be met with more violence.”

He’s only a child. He knows no better than what he’s been taught. As the dark of the tunnel begins to settle over you – the light of its entrance growing further while the ground beneath your feet becomes rocky and unsteady – you try to see his perspective. You try to understand that he simply can not understand your position, and you would not wish him to.

“And what would you have me do instead?” you ask through grit teeth.

He seems to light up at the opportunity to speak and share his knowledge with you. Even in the growing dark when your eyes have not yet adjusted and the tunnel is still too shallow for luminescent life to grow, there is a noticeable bounce in his step.

“You must think carefully before reaching a decision. Find peace within yourself so you may bring peace to your people.”

Despite yourself, a bitter smile forms across your face.

If only it were that simple.

“This attempt on m life comes on what is supposed to be a day of peace, for the entire planet. Shall I set my sword aside and trust Thomnik will spare my life upon his alter?”

He seems troubled by this question; opens his mouth once or twice to answer but falters. Finally, “Master Qui-Gon and I will be there to protect you, if negotiations turn sour.”

“This arrangement has already spoiled,” you interject. “I don’t wish to discuss it further. I’ve made up my mind already.”

He falls out of step and you let him, continuing to march through the first stretch of narrow tunnel. You’ve travelled this way before and know from experience that the channels grow larger as you get closer to the centre. The first safe pod is just ahead – you can see the faint luminescent glow from blue moss that grows along it’s walls. Behind you, your entourage picks up their paces and you feel the first rumbles of an oncoming quake.

True to your word, as soon as the tremors start, you and Franc all but run to the safety of the pod. Your Jedi guard follow quickly after; barely reaching the pod to avoid falling dust and debris as it showers down over the tunnel floor. The space if barely big enough to house the four of you, and you’re pressed tight against the wall for a long minute while you wait for the shaking to stop.

The underground tunnels often continue to experience aftershocks, before fading away into the familiar still.

You continue your march as soon as the ground is steady. Silence stretches long and thick as distance grows between you and your guard. There’s nothing to protect you from in these caves. No reason to trail you like a shadow, and no reason to converse like old friends. Even Franc says nothing to ease the tension, and you settle in for a long day of it.

it’s only a short while later however, that you’re joined again at the frontlines. Qui-Gon doesn’t speak right away; testing to see if his presence is welcome, before offering his opinion.

He looks over at you – you feel his gaze against your skin, no scrutiny or appraisal; just a look.

You’d be more than happy to continue in companionable silence, feeling the tension lift slowly as you walk, but you’re curious to what he has on his mind.

“I must apologise for my Padawan,’ he says, taking you completely off guard. You know his delay to speak doesn’t come from a reluctance to apologise, but rather your reluctance to hear it. “He means well, but there are things in this life he might never come to understand. All he has known is peace.”

You nod in understanding. It’s just like you thought. This doesn’t anger you, but you certainly envy the boy.

You spare a glance toward Qui-Gon – don’t allow yourself to linger too long on his face. You speak with hesitance for the first time since he arrived.

“And you?”

A sigh is your first answer – a gentle breath to think through what must be said.

“I acknowledge that I have been fortunate,” he says carefully, “When I fight it is for an ideal. I risk nothing but my own body.”

You stop in your tracks, and a few paces ahead Qui-Gon stops as well. He meets your eyes and you wonder what he sees when you speak again.

“Our bodies are precious things,” the words escape in a whisper; too small for the tunnels to hear. It feels wrong to hold his gaze but you finish your thought, even as you feel the ground start to shift. “Every soul is precious.”

The warmth in his smile is neither compelled nor patronising. He simply says, “We too cherish life, but in different ways. I’m interested to understand more.”

“Well, if you stick around, I’m sure I can show you.”

The tremors grow stronger beneath your feet, and you’re only now sensing the danger. The blue glow of the next safety pod is just ahead and you break into a sprint.

Once within the pod you look first at Qui-Gon, before looking back into the tunnel. Franc and Obi-Wan have fallen so far behind they may have opted to run backward. The strength of the quake draws dust from the tunnel roof; small rocks breaking off and clattering to the cave floor. You remind yourself that this is normal – the quakes seem stronger underground, but it won’t last forever. As long as you stay within the pod, you’ll be okay.

As the thought replays in your mind, your stomach sinks. A particularly violent rumble has the tunnel roof collapsing. After the initial break, large rocks continue to fall and scatter along the path. You’re too close to the edge of the pod – still trying to see Franc safe in the distance. You’re pulled back by strong arms, dust spilling around you and a large section of cave wall narrowly missing you, as the tunnel is filled in.

You allow yourself to be moved, held tight against Qui-Gon’s body as the tremors _finally_ subside.

Silence.

You hold your breath.

Qui-Gon’s hand is soothing where it rests on your shoulder; a steadying weight. You’re not afraid of the quakes – only of what you have to lose.

“They’re okay,” Qui-Gon says, and you can tell he’s not just saying so to sooth you.

“Princess!” Franc’s voice carries through the tunnel. You can hear the frantic sound of footsteps racing toward you. “Are you okay?”

Relief floods your body like cold water. You push away from Qui-Gon, and stand at the very edge of your safe pod. The luminescent glow from the moss barely lights up the extent of the damage. The tunnel leading back is completely blocked up.

“I’m fine,” you call back, ignoring the way your heart pounds in your chest. You reach a hand out to touch the stonewall, but think better of it. There isn’t time.

“Oh thank the stars – I don’t get paid nearly enough to announce your untimely death.”

You roll your eyes, a fond smile forming upon your face despite yourself.

“It could take hours to clear the path,” you say, “If it were my choice, I’d have you with me but –”

“Go princess. I’ll take the young Jedi back to the palace, and we will have the tunnel cleared by the time you return.”

This time Obi-Wan speaks up;

“But master –”

“KI know you will use your best judgement in my absence,” Qui-Gon says, and for the first time you seem him wear an almost troubled expression. “Trust in yourself Obi-Wan. You cannot lead yourself wrong.”

There’s a moment of hesitant silence before; _“Yes master”_

You stay where you are for long moments, listening to the sound of fading footsteps. Against the echoing walls of the cave you hear pleasant chatter – Obi-Wan’s curiosity getting the better of him once more.

With your previous anger extinguished, you’re left with a bone deep exhaustion.

What else can go wrong> the day has turned into a disaster.

“Forgive me, your highness,” Qui-Gon speaks from the other side of the pod, “But perhaps it’s time we carried on?”

You sigh heavy. He’s right. Your body feels like it’s being weighed down with the stress of the day, but you lift your head and fight it.

“Let’s go.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :Full_Moon: intensifies
> 
> TYPOS: I typed this up on my phone which really makes things worse with my impaired vision please be gentle.

You’ve been walking for hours.  
Companionable silence faded slowly, and left behind it just the silence. At first you thought to break it, but we’re unsure of what to say. Eventually it stretched on so long you wondered if your voice would still work.  
You’ve passed through several passages in various states of repair. Alternative routes bypass tunnels affected by cave ins, but many of them are also destroyed. You know there has to be a clear path — how else would Thomnik’s assassins have found you? But as you continue to reach deadend after deadend, you’re close to hitting the wall.  
Qui-Gon follows you like a shadow. His presence is calming, and he doesn’t comment on the state of the path — doesn’t try to lighten the mood as Franc would have. For this, you are grateful.  
It’s not quite the same as taking the journey along — or even being stranded with one of the generally silence palace guards, who know your temper too well for conversation. There’s something different in the air that accompanies the sense of security. It’s almost electric — an unnameable potential you’re reluctant to address — and at times when you’re held close in the safe pods, you find your cheeks warming and your eyes focussing on anything other than his face.  
The world shakes around you, but the real tremor is in your step when you try to leave the pod — flustered but just the way he looks at you. And maybe if you were paying attention, you’d notice the quake hasn’t completely stopped. The cave walls confine to rumble, but you put yourself in danger just to escape the pod a few seconds early.  
 _”Princess!”_  
A large hand circled your wrist, pulling you back sharply into the safety of the pod — into the safety of Qui-Gon’s arms. The action saves you for a second time, from a mass of falling rocks. The cave crumbles ahead of you, spilling dust and stray stones into the luminescent pod. As you watch yet another alternative route destroyed before your eyes, all you can think is the electric touch of his skin against yours — almost burning where his fingers press against your palm, his other arm wrapped safe around you.  
The tremors come to a slow stop. Dust settles and begins to fade, allowing you a clear view of the damage. Only half of the path is obstructed; enough space left for you to squeeze through — and beyond that all you think of is that Qui-Gon still holding you.  
You’re too warm but you don’t pull away. You wait as he releases you slowly. In the small space of the safe pod he brings his hand to cup your face, lifting so your eyes meet his.  
“Are you okay?” He asks, voice full of genuine concern. It makes your heart ache, and you look down in embarrassment.  
If it were anyone else, you might hesitate to answer — concerned by the risk of admitting weakness. But Qui-Gon has given you no reason to doubt him.  
“I suppose I’m a little distracted,” you admit. The world is completely still around you, and you pull yourself reluctantly away. “It does t help that I haven’t travelled this way in years. The tunnels are much different than I remember them.”  
When you approach the half filled tunnel, there’s hesitation in your steps. You remember stories from when you were young; designed to scare children away. You’re not afraid — you don’t have that luxury — and so you trudge forward, pressing your back against the cave wall and shuffling past the unsteady block.  
“I gather you’ve not made this journey in a while,” Qui-Gon says.  
“Not since the last attempt at peace talks — when I was a child,” you say, “our armed forces never marched the tunnels; their numbers were too large. Traversing the valley takes longer, but it’s safer. Unless that too has changed.”  
He doesn’t say anything else — perhaps worried about prying. However you feel now you’ve opened your mouth, it isn’t so easy to close it. Your distrust of the outsiders tasked with your safety, had turned into a curiosity of its own. How will they perceive your people, your history — how will he perceive *you*, if you give him a chance to?  
As you free yourself from the destroyed path, stepping back into an open tunnel, you chance a look back. Qui-Gon wears the same expression of open interest, but he’s patient. He waits for you to speak at your own pace.  
“Marro has not deployed its army since my father abandoned his post,” you reveal. The memory had your gaze defining to the ground. “We’ve continued to defend our territory, but we no longer send forces to slaughter and pillage.”  
“Your enemy continue to fight, even when your people have stopped?”  
He’s curious, despite himself. Despite what he’d told Obi-Wan. With just the two of you here, it’s okay. You’re both making concessions — relaxing your own personal rules. Here in the tunnels. Alone. The rest of the world doesn’t exist.  
“They have suffered greatly at our hands,” you explain, “entire families slain. Bloodlines last forever. They were unprepared, and their people believe justice had not yet been served.”  
“And so, was it your father then, responsible for all of this?”  
He’s walking beside you now in the narrow tunnel. There’s barely any space left between you, and you try not to think about the warmth of his body beside yours — the kind of comfort you crave but don’t know how to ask for. You focus on his voice instead, ignoring his gaze against your cheek. When he’s asking questions, it’s difficult to get your mind in order.  
“It was my grandfather,” you finally say. “He started this war one hundred years ago. My father left me here to pick up the pieces.”  
“That must have been difficult for you.”  
“No — I was prepared for this my entire life. At a young age I lead a faction of our army through many invasions. And as princess, I was tasked with delivering the deaths to those they left behind. It is something I will not forget. Marro could never have known peace beneath my fathers rule.”  
You pass through yet another safe pod with no incident. As long as the path is clear you’ll soon reach the cavern in the dead centre of the tunnels. With all the detours you’ve spent more time on your feet than you’d expected. You’ll be glad for the chance to rest.  
Qui-Gon’s gaze burns into your skin, in the luminous glow of the safe pod. There are words unspoken in the air between you, and even when he does speak, he leaves words behind in his throat.  
“Do you believe you can lead Marro into peace?”  
“I have to,” the question is one you’ve been too afraid to confined. “I have to do whatever it takes.”  
“And if that means to slaughter your enemy?”  
You can’t be angry. He speaks with no judgement.  
“I wish there were an easier way.”  
The cavern is dead ahead.  
You can see the luminescent glow of blue moss in the distance; a sure marker of safety in the otherwise dark and treacherous tunnels. You march steadily forward. Silence once again begins to fall around you; the severity of your words causing the atmosphere to drop.  
It’s been like this your entire life. The weight of your responsibilities seperates you from everyone else. You’ve always tried not to let it get to you — and you try harder *now*, when you can feel Qui-Gon’s gaze against your back.  
You think he intends to say something. The air is thick with all the things unspoken — a potential tension. He doesn’t get the chance.  
From the cavern ahead, you hear the sound of water breaking. The clear springs from the valley stretch all the way underground. Perfectly still even when the weather is bad. Something had shattered the surface and you’re immediately on guard — prepared for another attack.  
The unworldly scream of a frightened animal, echoed through the tunnels. The sound sets into your skin, piercing right into your heart, and you take off in a sprint.  
Cave dwelling animals are few and far between. You’ve seen maybe a handful in your lifetime. They’re gentle. Shy. Completely blind and defenceless, and when you enter the safe cavern you barely hesitate long enough to kick off your shoes before diving into the spring.  
The water is below freezing. It hits you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs. The shock is almost enough to drag you to the surface. Instead you follow the frantic kicks of a desperate animal; only drawing itself closer to death with its struggles. The poor thing lashe out when you’ve gotten your arms Around it. Dull teeth mash against your coat, tearing at the leather and leaving marks against your skin.  
When you break the surface again, the creatures shrieks are loud enough they seem to shake the cavern. You carry it quickly to the bank, setting it free along the rocky edge before going forward to lift yourself up.  
Qui-Gon is standing at the edge of the spring and he offers his hand to help you out. You hesitate, watching the creature as it sniffs the air before running off. It had no trust for you, even after you’ve saved it’s life.  
When you take Qui-Gon’s hand, his skin is warm against your own. He lifts you effortlessly out of the water, and when you’re engulfed by the cavern air, your entire body shivers.  
Maybe you hold on just a little too longer. Qui-Gon doesn’t let go until you do. He doesn’t seem to want an explanation but you offer one anyway.  
“They’re blind,” you say, “it’s not fair to them. They don’t know the water is there until it’s too late.”  
He nods in understanding. There’s an interest in his eyes that makes you turn away — uncertain.  
“You must think me foolish.”  
And how could Marro thrive with such an impulsive princess?  
“I think that you are passionate — you allow your heart to guide you, which is more than I can say if anyone else I know.”  
You lower your gaze to the ground, cheeks warming. You turn away to instead focus on the state of your clothes; hanging wet across your body. The damage done to your coat by mashing teeth is irreparable, and you set about removing it as Qui-Gon continues to speak.  
“When this mission was assigned to me, the details were very black and white. We must help a princess, who does not want to be helped. I thought this might be a good test to Obi-Wan’s thus far lacking social skills. I never expected _you.”_  
Your coat hits the ground with a noise that has your nose wrinkling. Qui-Gon leaves his statement in the open air and you try not to dwell on it — there’s already so much on your mind. You move quickly onto your shirt — the material is heavy where it clings cold to your skin. As you lift it over your head you hear a sound — a stumble, a rock accidentally kicked and skittering across the cavern.  
Qui-Gon clears his throat.  
 _“Princess.”_  
His voice is strained, barely audible over the sound of your shirt as it’s tossed aside.  
You throw a look back over your bare shoulder. You can feel his eyes on you, through when you look back he turns away — averting his gaze to the cavern floor. You can only assume his reaction is to the scar between your shoulder blades.  
A heavy sigh leaves your chest. You haven’t thought of it in so long.  
You distract yourself with the ties of your shorts, annoyed with yourself for not thinking before diving into the spring.  
“It was a knife wound,” you say, flexing your shoulder as you explain. “An ambush during peace talks.”  
 _When you were still just a child._  
It’s a struggle to get the shorts off. You wriggle you’re good, peeling slowly like an unwanted layer of skin. At least if another creature falls into the spring you’ll be ready for it.  
The last item of clothing hits the ground with the same unfortunate sound. You shove in the cold air of the cavern; almost completely exposed. Trust you to fall victim to something as benign as the elements. You’ll never live it down if you return to the palace with the sniffles — even if you carry Thomniks head at your side. The thought is accompanied by a rustling of fabric from behind you. Before the cold can sink too far into your skin, you're being wrapped up — surrounded by the warmth of Qui-Gon’s cloak.  
“Perhaps I should have been more specific,” he says, voice quiet, as though not trusting himself to speak. “I suppose modesty doesn’t mean the same across the galaxy.”  
Modesty? You feel your cheeks warm. His hands are still on your shoulders.  
Wrapping the cloak tight around yourself, you turn to face him.  
“Have I made you uncomfortable?” You ask. There’s an edge in your voice. A challenge.  
He meets you with a long gaze; admiring the way you look wrapped up in his cloak. This seems somehow more intimate than being completely bare — you wonder if he thinks the same.  
“Not at all,” he says smoothly, “yet another cultural difference I’d be interested to learn more about.”  
Maybe it isn’t a good idea — and maybe the ground rumbling beneath your feet only confirms this theory. This entire day has been one disaster after another. But here in the safe cavern, soaked from head to toe, covered in the comforting warmth of a narrowed cloak, you close your eyes and take your shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, this is for a very very dear friend of mine anyone can read this but it has a very specific audience so 💁🏼♀️


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is 1am. i can't be bothered saying much.
> 
> i haven't updated the tags just yet so BE WARNED THERE IS SOME SEXUAL CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER
> 
> TYPOS: yall know the drill don't @ me

There has never been a time in all your life, where your mind was completely silent. Always working – always working. There was always something that needed to be done; some royal responsibility eating away at you.

The sudden silence would be startling if you could focus long enough to dwell on it.

The cavern is shaking around you, but your world is narrowed to the feel of Qui-Gon’s cloak around our body, and the soft press of his lips against yours.

He takes a step back when you kiss him – back hitting the cave wall in surprise. He’s leaning into it the very next second; hands settling gentle against your hips – the touch almost not there at all.

You’ve never been patient, and the chaste kiss only soothes you for a few seconds before you’re angling for something more. You already have to stand on your toes to reach and with your arms secured around his shoulders you tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck; holding him in place as you test your limits. A simple scrape of teeth against his bottom lip has Qui-Gon opening his mouth, allowing you to press your tongue inside. A moan forms in his throat, and leaves his body in a sigh. His hands tighten against your body and he pulls you closer with a strength that makes your heart sing.

Your body is warm all over, despite the water still clinging to your skin. A fire is simmering low in your stomach, every touch adding fuel to the flames. When he presses forward you follow through with your own step back – your foot catches on the oversized cloak and you fall back; dragging Qui-Gon with you.

When you hit the ground it’s in a heap of tangled limbs. Qui-Gon holds himself over you; one hand flat beside your head as he kneels between your parted legs. With the cloak only draped over our shoulders, the movement causes it to fall open. You feel a rush of cold air on your skin as it’s exposed; your body once more on full display.

Despite having had his tongue between your teeth only seconds ago, Qui-Gon averts his eyes when your body is bared to him. You find the gesture endearing; an odd warmth filling your chest in response.

You push yourself into a seated position, slinging an arm around the back of his neck to pull him closer. Your mouths are practically touching when you say, “You don’t have to look away.”

It takes you off guard when he kisses you again. His large hands settle over your ribs; thumbs resting just beneath your supple breasts.

Just the simplest touch steals the breath from your lungs. You push back – push until he’s lying on his back. He looks up at you like the stars; waits patiently as you climb over him to straddle his hips.

The cloak is left behind in the dirt. In the luminescent glow of the blue moss, your entire body is exposed. His eyes take in every inch of you; mouth parted in awe.

 _“Beautiful,”_ the word falls off his tongue as though by accident – as though it were a secret he’d intended to whisper into the wind.

You lean down, hands flat against his broad chest. You can feel the beat of his heart beneath your palm – the shallow breaths held for only seconds in his lungs – and when your lips meet again you’re sure the world disappears around you.

Maybe it’s the stress. You don’t think it’s ever felt this good before. To have somebody touching you – just the barest hint of his hands on your body have a shiver rushing down your spine.

The heat in your stomach only grows when his hands settle firm against your hips. There’s a strength in his grip, even if he doesn’t show it. The ability to protect you, or hurt you in equal measure – a dangerous potential restrained beneath patient fingers, and like the fire that threatens to consume you , you want _more._

The kiss is broken with a gasp. Your chest aches from the lack of oxygen, and you suck in desperate gulps of air. When you move to sit up – dragging a hand through your tangled hair – the slightest shift of your hips has a curse falling from his lips.

_“Princess –”_

His fingers tighten against your hips in warning.

When you shift again you can feel it; the outline of his growing cock pressed against your bare ass. You can just barely guess at the size when he presses up against you – the thought makes your mouth run dry, and fuels a growing warmth between you legs.

“I was right when I meet you,” you say, shifting again, trying to feel an angle that has him rubbing against your – and _oh_ there it is, you lean forward with a stifled moan, hips grinding forward in tiny circles as you let the subtle pleasure burn through your body. “Do you do this with all clients, or just the lucky ones?”

An indulgent smile passes over his handsome features. The expression holds such _warmth_ it leaves you short of breath.

“I don’t make it a habit of engaging my charge – no.”

The answer pleases you almost as much as the way he sounds, out of breath. You could listen to him speak forever; the way his voice deepens with pleasure as you grind back on the length of his thick cock – the groans and stifled words of praise that fall off his lips like sweet curses. The image of a calm man barely holding himself back.

His fingers are strained against you skin. The barest pressure as he drags your body forward, rocking into the motion of your hips. With every clumsy movement you feel a jolt through your body – the jolt of Qui-Gon’s hips pushing hard against you. The jolt of pleasure from the rough stimulation against your clit; the angle _just good enough_ to have you edging toward that growing flame. Perhaps even a jolt as the world begins to shake around you once more, deep rumbles echoing through the cavern.

You’re lost in it all. The lack of air between you. The bitten off moans. The way your bodies fit together so perfectly.

You’re lost.

And yet in the drag of warm hands down your parted thighs, you find yourself. You find yourself in the touch of a leather strap around your thigh. The weight of a vibroblade sheathed and secured against you.

Qui-Gon freezes, perhaps coming to the same realisation as you.

Your body is thrumming. Every inch of exposed skin is singing with pleasure. Meanwhile, your stomach sinks with dread.

The weight of your responsibility has the moment screaming to a stop.

“Princess –” the word leaves his mouth as thought he doesn’t think it through. His hands rest still on your naked thighs. He no longer averts his eyes.

With your hands pressed flat against his chest you lean down. He lets you plant a chaste kiss against his lips – presses back with every ounce of warmth he’s shown you – and when you pull back there’s a question in his eyes.

“You’re a lovely distraction – I’m afraid I’ve got business to take care of before I get to you.”

His eyes shimmer with amusement.

“I’m just another item on your list?”

For the first tine all day, you smile back.

“I think after all this trouble, I’m going to need something to look forward to.”

* * *

The tunnels are better maintained heading out of the cavern – likely seeing more use by raiders, traders, and spies. You make the remainder of the journey in less than half the tine, not encountering a single closed off tunnel or long winding detour.

Eventually your clothes dry enough to be worn again, though Qui-Gon let’s you keep the cloak in lieu of your leather coat. He breaks the silence occasionally with a cheeky quip, or genuine question about your people – things you might have said but no explained; thoughts you may have left unfinished. And when neither of you speak, silence falls easily. The echo of your footsteps bounce off the cave walls. A countdown to the end where open air wafts in from the ocean. A countdown to the next safe pod where you can’t help but steal a kiss or two as the ground rumbling around you.

He holds you tighter each time; reluctant to let go. The promise of your body against his, has you hoping the world never stops shaking. But when the planet comes back to it’s inevitable standstill, you continue to march – ever persistent toward the light at the end of the tunnel.

That light turns out to be Zagos; the ocean fortress. When you finally emerge from the tunnel system, it’s to a sky full of sparkling stars and a crescent moon glowing bright along the horizon. The winds and storm are left behind in Marro – the weather calm over the still waters.

You hear the awe in Qui-Gon’s exhale – Zagos truly is a sight to behold – and as you lead him along the beach-built path, you can only wonder what other places he’s seen.

“It’s been a while since I was last here,” you say the path from the tunnels to the gates of Zagos, is a long one. It winds across the ocean; viewable from the watch towards that litter the city walls. “Our army lay siege to the wall. For over a week. It was the longest battle to take place this side of the tunnel system.”

“I take it you were unsuccessful,” he says.

“We never got an order to stop. Word came from Marro that my father was gone. We retreated immediate –”

“And you haven’t fought since?”

You sight. It’s more complicated than that.

“Not in enemy territory, no. but I have spent many days on the frontlines – protecting our own borders,” in the dull glow of the stars, and the reflection of Zargos just up ahead, you allow yourself a moment of truth. “I long for this war to end. No matter the cost.”

When you approach the gate, a guard is waiting for you. He bows on one knee, and keeps his eyes to the ground.

“Welcome, your highness,” he says. It takes every ounce of willpower you have left, not to so much as speak. He’s emblazoned with the same uniform as the men who tried to kill you only earlier today, and yet he appears unarmed. “We were expecting you earlier. I’m afraid king Thomnik has retired for the night.”

You roll your eyes, anger simmering down to a heated irritation.

“well wake him up – I’ve come a long way to see him and I won’t be waiting longer.”

The guard flinches at the threat in your tone; the sight giving _some_ satisfaction. What terrible stories do they whisper in amongst their ranks, of Marro’s poison princess?

Qui-Gon steps forward. A gentle hand against your shoulder has the anger melting from your body. You lean into the touch; annoyed but subdued.

“We’ve travelled a long way to be here,” he says, voice firm but calm. You don’t have to look up to know he’s smiling; an edge in his eyes. “Surely if he will not see us, the king intends to accommodate us for the night. Relations with the princess are already wearing _so thin._ ”

The guard straightens up, nodding frantically.

“Yes! Of course sir! The princess and her royal guard are welcome to stay within the walls of Zagos!” he speaks hurriedly into his comm, and only seconds later the wall is parting. The guard gestures into the city – lit up in golden tones against the deep blue of the night sky. “Please! Be our guest! Venture into the castle – our royal staff with see to your needs.”

You huff and march past the guard, with every intention of storming the castle. Qui-Gon follows behind you at a leisurely pace. He doesn’t try to stop you – you don’t doubt he understands your position. He may not agree with it – in some ways still believing peace can be the answer – but he understands what you have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:3

The ground shakes as you march through Zagos. Surrounding buildings stretch high into the sky; obscuring the blue glow of the full moon. This city has been built and destroyed more times than history can remember – at least now the structures can survive through frequent quakes.

You hear the whispers that follow your short journey. Curious citizens watch you from the safety of their homes, or secured in local businesses. A small gathering outside a busy eatery practically scatters as you walk past. Even those who are lucky to have ever met you, seem to know exactly who you are. And you can hear it all in amongst the whispers that spread between them.

They all know what you’ve done.

The animosity makes your heart ache. You want to turn tail and run. You want to sit on the beach just outside the city walls and scream into the stars.

You know that whatever happens it won’t end well. If you return to Marro with Thomnik’s heart on your blade, the remaining citizens of Zagos will revolt. The war will continue and without proper leadership, Zagos will self-destruct.

You feel it in the air – in the way they stare at you. For their king, these people would choose death.

_ “Princess.” _

Qui-Gon’s voice is calm and quiet. His hand is a solid weight against your lower back, grounding you. Separating you from your growing despair.

“I can tell there’s something weighing on your mind.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Your tongue feels too heavy where it sits in your mouth, and your throat feels as though it's closed around a dry lump.

“Thinking about the bigger picture can often prepare us for what is to come. But I find it most helpful to focus on the moment we’re in.”

You stop walking, pausing to take a breath. The city around you is bathed in blue – and beyond the quiet chatter you can hear the calm pull of the ocean.

You long for the trees of Marro.

You long to go home.

It takes you a moment but when you finally gather the strength to look up, you find the same warm smile on Qui-Gon’s face. You release the breath you’ve been holding; feeling as it relaxes your body.

I know what I need to do,” you say.

You’re able to continue on with your head held high. The growing anxiety of being in an unfamiliar place – and having a heavy choice to make – it’s at the very back of your mind. For a solid five minutes you focus completely on the motion of your body. One foot after the other. The weight of partially dry clothes against your skin. The drag of a sheathed blade against your thigh – the pleasant warmth of the cloak surrounding your body.

Physical sensations that keep you grounded right in the moment. Things to keep you breathing steady. The palace sits dead centre in the city. Its doors are guarded by two armed men – both of whom drop to one knee when they see you; bowing their heads in respect.

“Your highness!” one exclaims. You can see the way his shoulders tremble. Perhaps he was one of the unfortunate wall guards thrown into the ocean during your final siege. “We have been expecting you.”

“Please – step inside!” the other guard scrambles to his feet, rushing to key in the code for the automated door. “It is our pleasure to welcome you into Zagos.”

You nod respectfully at each man as you pass – you’re sure you hear a sigh of relief once your back is turned.

Qui-Gon thanks the guards for their hospitality, and the two of you are alone in the palace foyer for no longer than thirty seconds before an exuberant young servant joins you.

“Your Highness! Welcome!” the expression she wears is pained – as though this isn’t quite in her job description – and she spreads her arms out as though to embrace you, before thinking better of it. “We are pleased to welcome you into Zagos! For anything you need before your audience with king Thomnik –”

_ “Now,” _ you say, taking a step forward.

Her pained smile drops, and she takes a step back – fear obvious in her eyes.

“I apologize, your Highness. I’m afraid –”

“I don’t want to hear it. I’ve come a long way to discuss matters of peace with your paltry king. I will not be kept waiting.”

She continues to stutter and step back. You wonder if the servants of this palace are armed – if King Thomnik can trust any of them with a weapon.

“Your Highness, please – we have arranged suitable rooms to keep you overnight. I am certain they will be to your standard.”

You scowl. Your entire body is tense with the effort to not foist your rage onto this young servant. When you speak again, your words come out between grit teeth.

“The quality of my bed is not of concern. I would simply like the audience I was promised.”

“I – I understand that, your Highness. Believe me, I do! But –”

Her rambling is cut short just before she backs herself into the wide staircase.

“Amehlia, step aside. I’ll handle this.”

The young servant looks relieved, before she scurries off further into the castle, leaving only the small audience of gathered guards and servants behind. An audience you’re only now noticing.

And then there’s the man at the top of the staircase, staring down at you with a derisive sneer. He is bed-addled, clumsily dressed, and obviously displeased to see you – among the several other emotions that linger on his face.

This man doesn’t bow before you as the rest of the palace staff have. He meets your gaze head on. A challenge.

“Good evening, princess," he says, beginning his descent down the elegant stairway – clutching the bannister with his metal hand. He is the first person to bother a glance back at Qui-Gon, and you’re curious what he sees. “I’m afraid King Thomnik will not be able to see you tonight. He is  _ tied up _ with other engagements.”

“I don’t care. Get him down here now. I will not wait.”

“Ah yes – your infamous impatience," he is unmoved, and you know to get to the king you will have to go through his personal guard, Neithyn. As has always been the case. “I seem to recall your inability to wait had quite the adverse effect on your last siege. I doubt the people of Marro received that loss well.”

“We peacefully withdrew,” you argue. “If we had maintained our position, Zagos would have fallen within a week.”

“It’s a shame you left in such a rush. We never got to finish our battle in the valley.”

“You ready to lose the other hand, huh?”

A twisted smile mars his otherwise stoic face, and Neithyn raises his metal hand just slightly, so it catches the palace lights.

“If it will keep you from interrupting further I will consider a rematch; but no matter the outcome, you will not be seen tonight.”

Your hand comes to rest beneath your cloak, where your blade sits sheathed against your thigh. If it’s a fight he wants, you’re more than ready. You try to stay in the moment. You try to let your thoughts and feelings guide you – it takes immeasurable effort to work past the anger and force out proper words.

“I doubt the sight of your blood across these steps is one your king would enjoy seeing,” you say. Your hand stays against the handle of your blade but you don’t draw it. “Surely there is a civil way to resolve this.”

Neithyn sighs, long suffering and filled with condescension.

“Princess, in the name of civility I suggest you allow our servants to show you to your rooms for the night. We can reconvene tomorrow morning – it is simply  _ too late.” _

“We would have arrived on time if the tunnel systems were not in such a state of disrepair!”

“That is neither our fault, nor will it gain you any sympathy. We extended our invitation to you at the height of the last moon, and yet you have only now responded. You were left with plenty of time to plan a journey – we even sent you an escort to guide you.”

That’s it. You draw your blade – the movement has your cloak falling to the ground in a heap. Your entire body is burning with anger as you march forward – vibroblade extended toward your enemy as you pause at the foot of the stairs.

“You surely don’t mean the escort who attempted to kill me just earlier today!” you exclaim. The anger rolls off of you in waves, and maybe if you were level minded and grounded in the moment you would notice a flash of genuine surprise in Neithyn’s eyes.

“If that is what happened, I’m afraid it’s beyond my control.”

“Bullshit!”

Your voice echoes throughout the cavernous room – surely heard throughout the entire castle. There’s a burst of energy surrounding it; a fire that starts in your chest and leaves your body in your voice – and in the very next second the ornate stone figure at the end of the bannister explodes; shards of grey stone skittering across the floor.

The resulting silence is deafening.

In close corners of the castle you can hear servants as they scramble away from you – their fear renewed.

Neithyn looks at you with a familiar expression of disdain.

“Really, princess – I thought we’d gotten past this little problem years ago.” It’s his turn to advance on you – unarmed but for the scowl on his face and the absolute will, not to be bothered further. “Perhaps you should have left your attitude in Marro with your bodyguard. These proceedings would go much smoother if you could learn to behave in polite company.”

“I have tried to be  _ civil,” _ you say slowly. Your grasp on the handle of your weapon is almost painful. “I have  _ tried _ to be reasonable – for  _ years _ I have tried. But enough. This ends  _ tonight!” _

Neithyn lets out another heavy sigh, and from the folds of his loose robe he draws his own weapon – armed even when sleeping, you suppose.

“Very well.”

His words are final.

You’re ready for a fight.

The weight of the entire day sits solid in your chest. You struggle to stay in the moment – your anger pulls you so thoroughly out of it. What will your people think? What will Franc say? How will Marro survive another century of war – and how satisfying will it  _ really be _ to strike Neithyn down where he stands?

Your entire body tenses. Ready to move. Ready to find out.

_ “Princess!” _

Qui-Gon’s voice is right next to you, thick with concern. His hand rests heavy on your shoulder – the touch grounding you once more.

“If this is what you decide to do, I will be on your side. But I do not wish for you to regret this.”

All at once our body relaxes. The tension leaves you in one long breath, and you’re able to see clearly for just a moment. You don’t have to say anything – really, there’s nothing to say. When you sheathe your weapon, Neithyn doesn’t stop you. He watches you walk away and you call back –

“We’ll continue this in the morning.”

* * *

The room you’re given has a view of the vast northern ocean. The large window that covers the wall, shows nothing but inky ocean and the pale blue of fading moonlight.

You’ve spent long minutes pacing the room; body holding too much energy while your mind scrambles to make sense of several scattered thoughts.

You’ll have an audience with King Thomnik come morning. He’ll relay the terms of your peace treaty – or if you’re particularly unlucky, he may reveal yet another plot against your life.

The thought has anxiety roiling in your stomach. You’re sure you could make it out alive – though perhaps not unscarred. The thought of having to live through a lifetime of war makes you  _ sick. _

Anger or no – all attempts on your life set completely aside – you would give anything to end this war.  _ That _ is what it comes down to. And in the moment, when you’re not sure what to do next and your emotions threaten to take control, you know  _ that _ is what you need to remember.

You sit down with a heavy sigh; settling cross-legged in front of the window. Against the glass you can see your reflection, and the empty room behind you. It might not be so hard to rest if they hadn’t provided separate rooms.

All things considered, you could use a little comfort right now.

* * *

The first rays of morning sunlight are creeping in along the horizon. You’re roused from sleep – still planted on the ground beside the window – by the warmth of a new day.

Through bleary eyes you can see the shimmer of ocean waves out ahead. The endless blue of the world as it stretches on far beyond your ability to see.

It’s only a short moment after waking, that you hear a knock on your bedroom door. Anxiety once again settles thick in your stomach. You might throw up.

This is it.

“Come in!” you call out. Your body aches as you struggle to your feet. The ground is hard against your knees, but eventually you’re able to stand. Still the door remains closed and another knock, firm and loud, resounds through the room.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you stalk across the room; ready to yell at whatever palace worker couldn’t take direction.

“Good morning princess.”

Instead you’re greeted by Qui-Gon’s smiling face. You find that all your early morning anger – all the residual fear and uncertainty from the night before – melts away as though it was never there to begin with.

“I apologize for the intrusion. However –”

You don’t let him finish before launching yourself forward. The last 24 hours have been a complete nightmare. You’re exhausted, nervous, stressed – you want to fight your way into peace, and be done with it already.

When Qui-Gon wraps his arm around you – hesitantly at first; obviously surprised by your forwardness – you feel at least  _ some _ clarity.

I’m ready to go home,” you say.

His answer is a soft breath against the top of your head, and a contemplative hum that rumbles through his chest.

“I agree. I’m rather anxious to see what has become of my padawan in my absence.”

“I’m sure he’s fine – he’s a good kid.”

When you draw back, you’re met with warm, reassuring eyes. No matter what happens today, you know you’ll be fine. You have learned to survive much worse.

You straighten up and fuss over yourself for a few pointless seconds; determined at first to remove any trace of vulnerability. In the end you decide honesty can only help your case, and so you don’t try to hide it. You hold your head high, shoulders squared, eyes brimming with uncertainty.

Qui-Gon holds out his hand.

“Ready?”

* * *

“Good day princess! I hope the morning sees you well!”

Thomnik has grown since you saw him last. The final siege Marrow lay against the walls of Zagos – over ten years ago. He has never been at the head of counterattacks; choosing to stay safely within his walls, and you’ve always thought of him as a coward.

He welcomes you now without fear, and as the young servant had the night before, he holds his arms out as though to embrace you.

_ “Sire,” _ Nethyn speaks from further in the room, voice both long-suffering and yet somewhat indulgent. “How do you expect me to protect you when you walk right into the arms of the enemy?”

Thomnik scoffs.

“Come now, Neithyn – this is to be a day of peace. Marro is no longer our enemy. We must extend the same trust we hope to receive.”

The words earn a bitter laugh; the sound escaping your throat before you can stop it. You try to keep yourself composed. For Marro. Qui-Gon’s presence at your side strengthens your resolve.

“Shall we get on with it?” you ask. You bypass Thomnik’s offered embrace, and seat yourself at the table in the centre of the room. This place is familiar to you, but you try not to let that bother you.

“Of course, princess. We have much to discuss,” Thomnik takes his seat across from you, Neithyn standing warily at his side. “I’m told you arrived without the escort we sent for you. If in fact there was an attempt on your life – which given my people's history, I have no doubt of – then it was solely my fault. I’ll not have Neithyn blamed for my decision.”

“He seems genuine, princess,” Qui-Gon murmurs beside you. You nod in acknowledgement, leaning across the table to level Thomink with a challenging glare.

“If that is true, then you claim your people act against me independent of our will.”

“I’m afraid that may have been the case. Many of my men have ill feelings toward you. I thought I had chosen someone I could trust, but evidently not.”

You take a moment to absorb this information. Zagos is beyond the control of its king? If even  _ he _ cannot guarantee your safety then –

“Why am I here?” you ask, “why are we having this conversation?”

Thomnik sighs. He looks back toward Neithyn, before addressing you with a resigned expression.

“My right of birth has led me into a war I want no part of – with a country who is both brimming with loyalty and yet eager to take matters into their own hands. I want the same as you princess – let us put an end to this foolish battle our grandparents started.”

“We stopped fighting over a decade ago – Zagos has not once ceased its assault. If you so wish for peace, why continue sending armies to our door?”

You’re out of your seat; hands slammed down against the table – ready to jump over it and knock that sorry expression off of his face. Beside you, Qui-Gon rests a hand against your back where you're almost bent against the table.

“We should hear him out, at least,” he says.

You don’t move from your position, but you  _ wait. _

“It is true that Marrow withdrew," Thomnik agrees, “I’ve been reluctant to keep fighting ever since then – the pressure of my position is such that I am constantly at war with my own people; they wish for action and I cannot deny them. even if we reach an agreement today, I’m not sure if they’ll be satisfied. Many of them wish for your death.”

This comes as no surprise to you. Still, the confirmation hits you hard. You lift yourself off the table – it’s difficult not to be consumed by your doubt. It might be hopeless, but you have to try.

“Tell them I surrendered.”

“Princess –”

Qui-Gon speaks first, nothing but concern in his tone. Perhaps he worries you intent to surrender in a literal sense – and it isn’t the  _ worst _ idea you’ve ever had.

Thomnik wears an expression of awe, while Neithyn keeps his reaction hidden. They watch carefully as you remove the vibroblade where it’s been secured this entire time – and with it you feel the weight of responsibility fall off your shoulders, laid out on the table before you.

“If you want this as much as I do, you’ll understand I am willing to take a fall in front of your people,” you push away from the table, and when you breathe in it feels like you’ve just broken the surface of a lake you didn’t realise you’d been drowning in. You turn away toward the door. “It’s a small price to pay, considering the lives we’ll save.”

As you walk away, Thomnik calls after you –

“What are the terms of your surrender?”

And when you smile it feels like the first time in years.

“No terms. I only hope we can learn to prosper together in the future that comes.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE

If there’s one thing you’ll miss when you return home, it will be the warmth of the sun. The trees that house your city are so thick, any light that breaks through only carries a fraction of its natural heat.

And perhaps you’ll miss the ocean breeze – gentle as it sweeps through the tangles of your hair. You’ve often mourned missed opportunities to venture out and explore, but as peace grows between your people and Zagos, perhaps you can return for a visit.

You’ve been out here since the meeting ended. Alone on the grand balcony attached to your temporary quarters. The area reminds you of the atrium back home, overlooking your city. From this vantage point you’ve been able to watch as the world opens up.

King Thomnik is set to make his announcement this evening.

Change is on its way.

You hear the door open behind you – the careful footsteps of someone trying not to interrupt. Qui-Gon has given you the day to think things over, and adjust to the decisions you’ve made. You didn’t need the time – though you appreciate it all the same – and when he wraps his arm around you from behind, you lean back into the touch.

“You surprised me back there,” he says, leaning his chin against your shoulder. The simple act has your stomach fluttering.

“I didn’t think anyone was expecting it,” you agree. If you close your eyes for a second you might forget who you are – and wouldn't that be lovely? “I’m surprised I didn’t think of this years ago – when Marro first came under my control.”

You allow yourself a few moments more of comfort. Neither of you wants to face what comes next.

“We’ll have to return to Marro tomorrow.”

He hums in response, the sound rumbling through you.

“This has certainly been among my more interesting missions,” he says. You can hear the wistful smile in his tone without needing to look. “I didn’t know quite what to expect when I was told my charge can and  _ will _ take care of herself.”

“Sounds rather boring,” you say.

“Certainly not – there’s not been a dull moment while I’ve been with you.”

You manage to turn in his arms, and while it’s one thing to stare an enemy in the face, you feel your cheeks warm when you meet Qui-Gon’s eyes.

“Actually, there’s still one last thing I have to do in Zagos,” you say. The words leave your mouth like a secret and you can tell he sees right through you.

Still, he quirks a brow and tries not to smile, and you don’t give him a chance to question you before you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him down into a kiss.

He melts into it, one hand coming to your face – holding you there like something previous – while the other comes to rest at your hip. You’re tired of waiting, tired of behaving – and maybe you’re not as gentle as you could be but a harsh scrape of teeth gains you access to his mouth; and if the moan that rumbles through his chest is any indication, it seems he doesn’t mind the biting.

When you part for air, you feel him pull at the edges of your shirt. The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin has a jolt of excitement rushing through you. The touch tickles at first – his hands settle flat against your waist before dragging up, causing your clothing to flutter around you. As he takes his time to explore your body, you distract yourself by laying gentle kisses against his jawline; moving steadily down to the column of his throat. Qui-Gon tilts his head back, giving you all the access you need to continue – a light scrape of teeth against his skin has a pleased hum rumbling through him, confirming your earlier theory.

You feel him shift against you, and you’re trapped between his body and the hard stone railing. A gasp parts your lips when his large hands close around your supple breasts – and surely you’re too dressed for this; your body starts to feel too hot beneath the single layer you’re wearing. You try to remedy this by pulling at his clothes, exposing more skin but not quite satisfying your need to  _ touch. _

Qui-Gon doesn’t help a single bit. He makes things difficult with curious touches – large fingers pressing into the flesh of your sensitive breasts, sending a mixture of signals all through your body. You want  _ more, _ and you can tell he’s doing this on purpose. As soon as you open your mouth to demand he stop teasing, you feel his fingers brush deliberately over your perked nipples. The shock has you biting down against the base of his throat, and he lets out a gratifying groan.

_ “Princess.” _

His hands still against you, and when you pull away there’s a mark left against his skin. You pull back completely, grabbing at his wrists and pulling his hands away from your body.

“You don’t intend to fuck me out here like some common whore, do you?” you ask, wetting your bottom lip where the faintest taste of iron lingers.

His expression is sly; a challenge in his eyes as he speaks;

“I’m not the one who started this – I’d say the intentions are yours.”

You wrap your arms around his neck again, pulling him close with your body pressed against his, you can feel the outline of his thick cock, already growing hard.

“I suppose you’re right,” you say, words barely a whisper. If you lean in any further you’d be kissing. “But you’re the one who’s paid to be here.”

Your hands fall to his shoulders and you push him away. When you walk back towards the bedroom you can hear his heavy footsteps following after you.

Your clothes are gone in a flash; discarded in a pile on the floor. Qui-Gon’s hands are back on you, holding your bare hips, and you think if he had the chance he would have you bent over the bed. You can feel his thick cock against your lower back and it seems you can’t quite keep himself from pushing against you – a stifled curse leaving his mouth at the feeling.

“How do you want it, princess?” he asks, voice gravelly. It all has you worked up – he’s letting himself go, and you'd like to see more of it; the thought of what he might do to you has you  _ aching _ between your legs _. “Let me please you.” _

You think it’s rather fitting – a princess taken by her noble guard. You don’t intend to be  _ taken _ , and you make this clear when you shove Qui-Gon down onto the bed. He goes without a fight; lies somewhat still as you climb over him – doesn’t struggle when you settle on your knees, just above his straining cock.

“I don’t need you to give me anything,” you say, satisfied with the look in his eyes as he takes in the sight of your naked body – far past the nerve to look away. “I’ll take what I want from you. Everything.”

_ “Yes princess.” _

He’s quick to agree, and you reward him by sitting down fully against him – your bare ass nestled comfortably against his concealed length. You’re still guessing at his size; your stomach aching with the thought that it might  _ hurt _ just a little bit. You want to feel it.  _ Now. _ You want to have him press inside of you; stretching you open and fill you again and again until you’re screaming for it. But you want to take it slow. You rock your hips against him; grinding down  _ just enough _ to feel him press against your wet pussy. You can feel the smallest shift of his body – and you can tell it’s a struggle for him to stay still. It’s a struggle for him not to grab onto you and thrust up against you until he finds completion.

“Princess –” the word leaves him in a gasp; a particular movement drawing a groan from within his chest.  _ “Please.” _

You smile down at him sweetly – as though you’re not feeling it; as though you’re not wet and wanting. Surely he can see the flutter in your stomach, and the subtle jerk of your hips whenever a particularly good angle has the rough material of his trousers rubbing against your sensitive clit.

It might take a while but you think you could cum like this. If you had enough willpower to withstand the fire that consumes your body, you might give it a try. Just to watch him struggle with it – to see if he could finish with you; like a teenager. Like a man driven to a slow madness.

You lean over him and he doesn’t dare touch you. He’s adapted to his role and he plays it perfectly.

“Is this not enough for you?” you ask against his throat.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get enough of you.”

His response has your heart fluttering. You place a chaste kiss against his lips – he doesn’t even  _ try _ to kiss you back – before lifting yourself back up to your knees. Your hands are shaking as you struggle to get his pants undone.  _ You’re so tired of waiting _ – and when you finally have enough space, you wrap your fingers around his hard cock; mouth running dry at just the feel of it. Your fingers barely close around the base, and you know you’ll be feeling  _ every inch. _

“I don’t know if it’ll fit,” you say, half joking. You move your hand in languid strokes, soaking up each sound you earn – Qui-Gon makes a valiant attempt to keep quiet but you still enjoy the choked off moans and deep, rumbling groans that leave him.

_ “Princess –” _

When his hands come to rest on your hips you don’t stop him, and he doesn’t push his luck any further. His thumbs trace over your skin and occasionally his grip gets  _ too tight _ – particularly when you swipe over the wet tip of his cock, or drag your thumb along the underside.

You try to be patient. You try to draw it out – to pretend you don’t want it just as bad. But your body is burning up, and you’re not sure who starts it, but soon you’re moving; pushing forward against Qui-Gon’s exposed cock. The first touch of his cockhead against your dripping pussy has your toes  _ curling _ , and even if it was him who started it, you can’t stop yourself from moving until you’re rutting against each other like feral animals. Your entire body is taut, you’re short of breath, and your heart is pounding in your chest. It takes every last bit of strength your body holds, not to finish yourself off just like this.

You force your body to slow down – to become still. With several deep breaths you’re still not calm but you absolutely refuse to wait longer. And as you line yourself up you at least feel better knowing Qui-Gon is having just as hard a time staying under control. His expression is dazed, and there's something uncharacteristically  _ raw _ in those eyes. Something he holds back – something you’d like to see more of.

You try to keep looking – you want to see the way his expression changes as you take everything you want from him – but when you begin to sink down it’s almost impossible to keep your eyes open. The stretch is  _ incredible _ . You feel every inch as you take him in; the length of his cock filling you perfectly. Your legs are trembling as you continue to sink down, and a long moan leaves you, when you bottom out.

_ “Fuck,” _ you groan, rocking forward to test the feeling.

Qui-Gon’s grip on your hips keeps you steady. He guides you back and forth in a steady rhythm, the movement causing heat to pool in your stomach.

“That’s perfect,” he groans, voice utterly wrecked.  _ “You're perfect _ – I don’t think I’ll last long like this; you feel so good  _ princess.” _

His words only spur you on, and you respond by lifting yourself almost all the way off his cock, and bringing yourself back down in one harsh movement. The action draws a satisfying sound from Qui-Gon, while sending shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body. You do it again; lifting your hips and bringing yourself back down over and over again until each movement blurs into the next. You don’t know when you closed your eyes, but you see flashes of color against the dark of your eyelids; bursts of pleasure lighting up your mind when your body just can’t take it.

You hear Qui-Gon groan beneath you, his speech slurred as he says,  _ “I’m close.” _

You grab his hands where they rest against your hips. Every movement feels slow and sluggish, his pals dragging over the planes of your body until they reach your breasts, settling there. He gets the message instantly, and as you continue to fuck yourself on him, Qui-Gon rubs his thumbs over your nipples, pinching them lightly to see what gets the best reaction.

_ “Fuck.” _

You hear his stutter – movements becoming sloppy. You feel it in every inch of your body now. You’re burning away. So close to that edge.

“Don’t stop –  _ fuck _ , do that again.”

He rolls your sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefingers, pulling  _ just so _ the action has a keening whine bubbling out of your throat, and you can’t control yourself any longer. Continuing to ride Qui-Gon’s cock, you slip a hand down your body you feel first where you’re connected; the hot flesh of his thick cock pushing into your wet pussy over and over again.

Your fingers are wet with just a touch, and you find your clit with ease. A few simple touches has you falling into oblivion – your entire body tenses and for a moment you see stars. You’re no longer in control and you let Qui-Gon hold your waist too tight, fucking into your trembling body and stealing away his own pleasure until he cums with a feral groan; leaving you a complete mess.

In the aftermath, you both take a moment to breathe. He holds you close against the plush sheets, a gentle kiss against the top of your head as you begin to drift off.

You’ll be returning to Marro tomorrow morning. Nothing will ever be the same. You’ve made more concessions in 24 hours than in the entirety of your life, and as sleep begins to steal your mind, you can only thank the winds of change.

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up on @softdramahoe  
> the next chapter will most likely be posted tomorrow.


End file.
